Ovih dana sam dobila na citanje od jedne drage osobe, knjigu "Chicken Soup for the Soul". U knjizi se radi o ljubavi, ispricanoj na razne nacine, kroz 101 pricu razlicitih autora.
Vrlo jednostavan koncept. Procitala sam tek nekoliko, iako su kratke. Ali sam tako raspolozena da deluju na mene. I prvo vece, posle citanja knjige, shvatila sam da se osecam kao da tako nesto, sta tako jasno govori o cistim medjuljudskim odnosima, ne bi trebalo da tako jako utice na mene. Iskreno, kao da me je sebe same bilo sramota, sto eto.. dotice me sve. Mozda sam u takvim mislima ovih dana. Ali, uf!!, zar je sramota da pomislim da sam jednostavno - mozda takva ja.
I onda sam shvatila da je donekle sramota biti emotivan. Tj, da ne koristim tu izlizanu rec koja sad vec na svasta asocira i sa kojom se cesto manipulise, napisacu - zar je sramota voleti ljude i svet oko sebe, osecati ga i radovati mu se, pa i pokazati to.
Vrlo opusteno reagujemo u svadjama. Uznemirimo se, da.. ali ipak nam dodje prirodno i da pricamo o tome. Raspravljamo.. Jednom sam cak glumila da sam ljuta jer se to ocekivalo od mene O_o.. Koje gubljenje vremena i zivaca..
Verujte mi da mislim da bi se sutra, kada ustanete i vidite ljude sa kojima ste u kontaktu, oni vise iznenadili da ih zagrlite i da im se osmehujete i volite ih, nego da im se ljutito obratite. Iako sam sigurna i u to sta bi im vise prijalo..
Izgleda mi da se nesto kao ljubav i dobrota ipak mogu sejati po ljudima.. eto, dozvolila sam sebi ovu izjavu iako mirise na patetiku :) !! Jer, mozda bi vise trebali da se stide oni koji su uzgajali sebe tako da sto manje osecaju, zasticeni od toliko toga - i dobrog i loseg.
Uglavnom, iz knjige za sad izdvajam jednu pricu koja je meni znacila iz vise razloga..
Vi pronadjite vasu u besplatnoj
google biblioteci.. (ne, nije tako sexi bibliotekarka kao u nekim filmovima :P ).
Bobbie Probstein, All I remember When my father spoke to me, he always began the conversation with " Have I told you yet today how much I adore you?" The expression of love was reciprocated and, in his later years, as his life began to visibly ebb, we grew even closer.. if that werw possible.
At 82 he was ready to die, and I was ready to let him go so that his suffering would end. We laughed and cried and held hands and told each other of our love and agreed that it was time. I said, " Dad, after you have gone I want a sign from you that you are fine," He laughed at the absurdity of that,javascript:void(0) Dad didn't believe in reincarnation. I wasn't positive I did either, but I had had many experiences that convinced me I could get some signal " from the other side" .
My father and I were so deeply connected I felt his heart attack in my chest at the moment he died. Later I mourned that the hospital, in their sterile wisdom, had not let me hold his hand as he had slipped away.
Day after day I prayed to hear from him, but nothing happened; night after night I asked for a dream before I fell asleep. And yet four long months passed and I heard and felt nothing but grief at his loss. Mother had died five years because of Alzheimer''s disease, and, though I had grown daughters of my own, I felt like a lost child.
One day, while I was lying on a massage table in a dark quiet room waiting for my appointment, a wave of longing for my father swept over me, and I began to wonder if I had been too demanding in asking for a sign from him. I noticed that my mind was in a hyperacute state. I experienced an unfamiliar clarity in which I could have added long columns of figures in my head. I checked to make sure I was awake and not dreaming, and I saw that I was as far removed from a dreamy state as one could possibly be. Each thought I had was like a drop of water disturbing a still pond, and I marvelled at the peacefulness of each passing moment. Then I thought, " I have been trying to control the messages from the other side; I will stop that now."
Suddenly my mother's face appeared - my mother, as she had been before Alzheimer's disease stripped her of her mind, her humanity and 50 pounds. Her magnificent silver hair crowned her sweet face. She was so real and so close I felt I could reach out and touch her. She looked as she had a dozen years ago, before the disease had begun. I even smelled the fragrance of Joy, her favourite perfume. She seemed to be waiting and did not speak. I wondered how it could happen that I was thinking of my father and my mother appeared, and I felt a little guilty that I had not asked for her as well.
I said, " Oh, mother, I am so sorry that you had to suffer with that horrible disease."
She tipped her head slightly to one side, as though to acknowledge what I had said about her suffering. Then she smiled -a beautiful smile- and said very distinctly, " but all I remember is love." and she disappeared.
I began to shiver in a room suddenly gone cold, and I knew in my bones that the love we give and receive is all that matters and all that is remembered. Suffering disappears; love remains.
Her words are the most important I have ever heard, and that moment is forever engraved on my heart.
I have not yet seen or heard from my father, but I have no doubts that someday, when I least expect it, he will appear and say, " Have I told you yet today that I love you?"
